


Tumblr Minific Fills

by Sinope



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: #impalefail, Alternate Universe - Ancient Palestine, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Canadian, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, Baking, Crack, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Food Porn, Gen, Home and Garden Magazines, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, MIT Era, Multi, Polyamory, Project Runway Fusion, all the aus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinope/pseuds/Sinope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minific fills of various pairings from my tumblr inbox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clint/Nick/Phil - Post apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of ficlets [requested on Tumblr](http://eponis.tumblr.com/ask). Thanks to everyone who prompted. :-) At the moment, no author warnings apply to any of them (save the occasional total crackfic), but I'll add them to chapters individually if they come up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [dazzledfirestar.](http://dazzledfirestar.tumblr.com/)

New York was an atomic wasteland before Clint even woke up from the blow that Natasha had given him: that much was the WSC’s fault. But when the Chitauri ships kept flying in, spreading across the globe like rot and leaving charred desolation in their wake, no one could claim that the Council had overestimated the threat. Small comfort for the wastelands that now lay where they’d once ruled from the shadows.

SHIELD suspected that the Helicarrier wasn’t the last bastion of humanity; there had to be others, in bunkers and on islands, who’d escaped. But for all the evidence they had, the camouflaged aircraft was all that mankind had left.

Clint didn’t explain this to Phil, sitting at his bedside in the medbay, but he didn’t have to; Phil had always been good at teasing out the uncomfortable truths that Clint preferred to sidestep.

“So this is it, then,” he said, voice still weak from a punctured lung. 

Clint nodded. No one was enough of an optimist to believe that a single ship would outwit the Chitauri forever — not after what they’d already done.

A few minutes later, the first blast of Chitauri weaponry rocked the Helicarrier; its already weak propellers stuttered in the air for one long moment, before starting again with a shudder. ”Won’t be long now,” Phil said. His thumb brushed over Clint’s palm, a gesture of reassurance, and Clint accepted it. After the hell that had been Loki’s brainwashing, he’d been granted the chance to die with his chosen family; that was more than he thought he’d deserved.

The door to medbay slammed open, and Nick burst in, carrying a Phase 2 energy rifle on one shoulder and a box of explosive arrows on the other. He tossed the latter at Clint, then pulled a light handgun out of a pocket and set it more carefully by Phil’s hand. ”We’ve been boarded,” he said shortly. ”The bridge is taken. I’ve had the crew take to the escape capsules.”

“But you’re not there,” Clint said, suddenly angry. ”Don’t tell me you gave up your chance to escape out of some stupid —”

Nick silenced him with a single glare. ”Some stupid idea that I wanted to go down shooting with the men I love? That’s exactly fucking right.” He bent down over Phil’s bed and kissed him gently on the lips, then pulled Clint in for a fiercer, harder kiss. ”Now pick up your goddamn weapons, and let’s show these Chitauri what makes us men.”


	2. Phil/Jasper bakery!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [kultiras](http://kultiras.tumblr.com/).

The chance to sit back and experiment was a rare treat, but they’d finally trained up Darcy to take care of the evening shift of muffin batter and cookie dough. So when Jasper challenged Phil to a bake-off — one hour, one theme, one chance for culinary glory — he couldn’t resist accepting. It felt like they were back in pastry school again, sharing a one-bedroom to save on rent and living off of extra scraps of pâte à choux. When Phil asked Jasper to name the theme, he just grinned, and Phil knew he already had a plan in mind. ”Small-town diners.”

An hour later, they presented their entries. Phil had baked waffle-flavored tuiles, sweet with malt powder and maple sugar, then shaped the cookies into small cones and filled them with a coffee pastry cream. When he took a bite, tasting the candy-like crunch around the bittersweet creamy filling, he knew he’d done well.

Then he took a look at what Jasper had made. ”Pancake cake,” Jasper said smoothly, but a quirk of a grin gave away his pride. He cut Phil a slice of the round cake and handed it over on a plate.

Phil took one bite and suppressed a whimper. ”This is …” He trailed off, more interested in putting more of it into his mouth than figuring out what alchemy Jasper had wrought.

“A couple dozen vanilla bean crepes layered with blueberry coulis and frosted with a maple-bacon buttercream? Yes, it is.”

Phil didn’t set down his plate until he’d finished inhaling the rest of the slice, but as soon as he did, he pushed Jasper up against the door to the walk-in fridge with a demanding kiss. ”You win,” he said.

Jasper kissed him back happily, taking off his glasses when they began to fog. ”Yeah, I do.”

“ _Oh my god you guys, I’m supposed to be getting diabetes from the cupcakes, not from the middle-aged men sucking face!_ ” Darcy yelled from the other side of the bakery.

Phil simply smirked and let Jasper claim his reward.


	3. Tony/Fury - Fashion Designer AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [uofmdragon](http://uofmdragon.tumblr.com/).

_“And all I can think is, sweet BLEEP mother of God, do NOT pair me with Tony. The man’s a full-on diva, worse than Loki, and that’s saying something. So when —”_

_“— So when she tells me I’ve gotta work with Nick, I know we’re doomed right there. Yeah, the guy knows how to tailor, but every time I’ve had my best ideas, he’s been the voice of doom and gloom. Total buzzkill. I mean, have you seen what he wears? It’s like he’s trapped in the Matrix or some bad sci-fi movie —”_

_“— Some bad sci-fi movie, like he thinks that an excess of shiny metallics can substitute for good taste. Tony doesn’t dress his clients in what reflects them; he dresses them to reflect himself. So for this challenge —”_

_“— So for this challenge, I know that Heidi’s going to be looking for something out of the box, and if Nick wants to win, he’d better shut up, take my ideas seriously, and hold on for the ride —”_

_“— The ride is all he cares about. Well, this is my goddamn team, and I plan to win this challenge, even if I have to tie Tony to the sewing machine and keep him Frenching seams. That man needs to get his cute ass —”_

_“— His cute ass, and the way his eye just penetrates you, like there’s no layers between you at all? Damn. But I’m here to win, and nobody’s gonna distract me. Not even Nick ‘Black Leather Fetish’ Fury.”_


	4. Phil/Tony/Steve/Clint/Natasha/Thor/Pepper/Rhody/Nick/Maria/Bruce/Bucky/Sitwell - Under the sea!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [thewaywardtexan](http://thewaywardtexan.tumblr.com/).

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little merman named Stevie, with eyes as blue as the ocean in which he swam. Stevie lived in the realm of SHIELD, ruled over by the wise King Nick and Queen Maria, and spent his days frolicking happily with his pals Clint and Natasha and his best friend Bucky. Even Phil and Jasper, who always warned Stevie to stay far away from the surface, used to join in their games.

But one day, Stevie caught a glimpse of a man flying above the ocean surface, his skin gleaming red and gold like a second sun. Then and there, he knew that he wanted to find that shining man, even if it meant leaving his home forever. So he asked his friend Thor for advice, and Thor sent him to his brother Loki. He warned Stevie that Loki was a powerful sorcerer who could be cruel, but that he’d already helped out another merman named Bruce who wanted to be transformed into a land man.

Stevie visited Loki and learned the truth: Bruce could live on the land, but he had to take on the form of a green monster. Still, Stevie was undeterred, and he begged Loki for the spell. So Loki agreed — at the cost of Stevie’s voice. Stevie’s petite underwater frame magically grew the muscles he’d need to move on land, until he was barely recognizable, but he could walk.

Despite his voice, Stevie found Tony, a prince of the human world, and befriended him and his pals Pepper and Rhodey. Though Loki tried to disguise himself and trick Tony into kissing him instead, Stevie finally won Tony’s heart, and through his selfless quest, he persuaded King Nick of the rightness of his cause.

So Tony and Stevie had an enormously lavish wedding on a ship at sea, so that all Stevie’s friends could be present. During the wedding reception, according to merpeople custom, there was a giant orgy, and everyone (except Loki) was invited to participate. So everyone had sex with everyone, and they all lived happily after.

THE END (AND ALSO I HATE YOU CJ)


	5. C/C Sentinel/Guide fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [sevencorvus](http://sevencorvus.tumblr.com/).

Days like this, Clint really wished that the Sentinels and Helpers Intervention, Enhancement, and Logistics Division had kept the existence of Sentinels and Guides _less_ of a secret.

“So I can buy the supernatural senses and the spirit animal crap, because, well, Loki,” Tony said slowly. ”But here’s the part I don’t get. _You_ ,” Tony said, pointing at Phil, “Mr. Does Paperwork For Fun, are supposed to be the territorial kick-ass super-warrior, and _you_ ,” pointing at Clint, “Mr. All Around Professional Jackass, are the source of emotional stability that keeps him grounded?”

“Yes,” they said simultaneously, deadpan.

Tony couldn’t stop laughing for ten minutes.


	6. Pepper/Natasha - cop buddy movie thingie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers to some Frequently Asked Questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [ladydeathfaerie](http://ladydeathfaerie.tumblr.com/).

1\. No, we’re not sisters. Aside from the color of our hair and skin, we look _nothing alike_. Moron.

2\. No, I don’t need a hand right now, and if I did, my partner is entirely capable of providing back-up. But if you keep staring at my tits, I will cut your hand off and feed it to my cat. Got it?

3\. No, if I get out my handcuffs, you will not enjoy it.

4\. We’re both the pretty one.

5\. No, I will not tell you what kind of underwear I wear under the uniform. That’s for my partner to know.

6\. Yes, I did leave that answer ambiguous.

7\. Actually, we’re both the Bad Cop. We just take turns playing Terrifying Cop. Guess which one I get to play today?


	7. Clint + home and garden magazines (isn't that how normal people live?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [daroos](http://daroos.tumblr.com/).

Clint was not a fan of glossy magazines. The paper crumpled into sharp edges and slick surfaces — useless for cleaning a gun, or scribbling down coordinates, or even wiping his ass. But once he joined SHIELD, and entered the world of doctor’s appointments and car rental agencies, he couldn’t avoid flipping through them on occasion.

He knew not to take them at face value. The women’s magazines — all about how to get more orgasms and fewer calories — didn’t actually reflect Natasha’s life, but they told him about the expectations the world had of her. (Once, after an excruciatingly long wait at the SHIELD dentists, he asked Natasha whether she preferred shaving or waxing her bikini zone, and she gave him a stare so blank that he had no idea whether it concealed rage or amusement.) Likewise, the fitness magazines had some cute ideas, for weekend warriors whose jobs didn’t require peak physical condition, but he wasn’t exactly memorizing the take-home tips.

Then there were the home and garden magazines. A life concerned with seasonal centerpieces and pink perennials was as exotic to him as the women’s magazines — more so, maybe, because at least he understood the purpose of sex and makeup. The magazines tended to focus on things rather than people, on artful dinner platters and pristine grass lawns, but sometimes they’d include a glimpse of the people populating that world: white, well-dressed, and always smiling.

No wonder, then, that without even intending it, Clint began to read the magazines as exposés on the enigma that was Phil Coulson.

Coulson knew what cufflinks were appropriate for what occasion and which fork to pick up first at the fancy government dinners. Clint could easily imagine him in one of those model houses, debating between stone tiles and hardwood planks as he remodeled his kitchen, then putting picture-perfect skewers of shrimp and asparagus on the gleaming chrome grill. Perhaps he’d undo his tie and roll up his shirtcuffs a few inches; the people in the magazines always looked a little relaxed, the casualness only emphasizing that they could have lives this beautiful without even trying.

It got to the point that on their drive back from New Mexico, when Coulson stopped for donuts and Clint followed him in (“ _I can’t trust you around bags of flour these days_ ”), Coulson caught Clint eyeing an issue of Martha Stewart Living, its cover depicting a mint-green breakfast nook flooded with morning light. The teasing didn’t stop for the next hundred miles of driving.

“Whatever, like you aren’t secretly all over that shit,” Clint grumbled at last. Coulson just quirked his lips and raised an entirely cryptic eyebrow.

The worst part, Clint thought, wasn’t that he’d started to know the difference between a sunroom and a breakfast nook. It was that somewhere in the shadows of that perfect New England Colonial house, watching Phil flip skewers on the grill and gulp down a glass of homemade lemonade, he kept seeing himself there too.


	8. Phil/Tony/Steve - Canadians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [thewaywardtexan](http://thewaywardtexan.tumblr.com/). Who enjoys tormenting me.

“I still can’t believe you’re gay. I mean, I’m a playboy, people _expect_ me to fuck everything that moves. But a tough, national Canadian icon superhero who’s gay? Please. It’s been done. Hell, Northstar even got married last year, and no one complained!”

“I can’t figure out whether that was a complaint, a challenge, or a proposal.”

“Why choose?”

“You know, Tony, if you really wanted to make waves, you could convince Captain Canada to come out as the first _polyamorous_ gay superhero.”

“While your plan does have merit, you do realize that you’re the only person on the planet who can say ‘Captain Canada’ with a straight face, right?”

“I think I’ve given you ample evidence that there’s very little about me that’s straight.”

“Point taken. Steve, up for round three?”

“You two are going to be the death of me. I’m in.”


	9. Clint/Coulson - Bartender AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [uofmdragon](http://uofmdragon.tumblr.com/).

On his first visit to Cap’s, the bar down the street from his Bed-Stuy apartment, Clint learns three things about the bartender: that his name is Phil, that he’s got a gun callus on his trigger finger, and that his eyes sparkle with distant constellations of hazel and blue.

On his eighth visit to Cap’s, Clint learns two things about the bartender: that Phil used to be an Army Ranger, and that he was dishonorably discharged when he refused to lie during his lover Nick’s funeral.

On his twenty-fourth visit to Cap’s, Clint learns one thing about the bartender: that he can disarm a dozen track-suit-wearing thugs with three shot glasses, a bottle of bitters, and a creatively applied lemon juicer.

And on Clint’s twenty-ninth visit to Cap’s, Phil learns something about the archer: that Clint may have a witty retort for every situation, but when he’s trying to ask someone out, he turns absurdly, charmingly tongue-tied.

(The answer’s still yes.)


	10. Tony/Phil/Jasper: Make some bread!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [thewaywardtexan](http://thewaywardtexan.tumblr.com/).

The last thing that Jasper expected to see when he knocked on Phil's door was Tony Stark, wearing nothing more than a t-shirt, a pair of SHIELD-issue boxers, and a smug grin. "It's pretty much exactly what it looks like," he smirked.

Somewhere deeper in the apartment, a door opened, and Phil wandered into the living room, in the process of wrapping a towel around his waist. "What's going -- _dammit_." He blanched at the exact moment he saw Jasper. "You're coming over _this_ Saturday morning." He glanced at Stark, then flushed, then straightened up in a hopeless attempt for dignity. "It's not what --"

"It is," Stark cut in.

Jasper was pretty certain that if Phil hadn't needed his hands to hold up the towel, he'd be face-palming.

"I can come back another time," Jasper finally said diplomatically -- mostly because he was torn between distraction at the sight of a dripping-wet, near-naked Phil Coulson, and a fit of helpless laughter at the agent's mortification. Rather than pick between the two, he turned to Stark. "Phil's a fantastic baker; he was going to teach me a few tricks in the kitchen."

"Agent whatever-your-name-is," Stark said very seriously, "there is nothing I would enjoy more than watching 'Phil' teach you 'tricks.' And hey, free food at the end, always a bonus!"

"I'm just going to ..." Phil's voice trailed off, and he pointed at the bedroom and began a strategic retreat. "Please feel free to have disappeared by the time I'm back."

"Not a chance in hell," Stark called after him. Then he looked back at Jasper, clapped an arm around his shoulders, and guided him in. "You think he makes chocolate babka? Because I had this slice once in Brooklyn, and it tasted like Jesus Christ coming straight into my mouth. Now, that's my idea of rapture. Hey, what did you say your name was?"

" _Lie to him,_ " Phil called distantly from the bedroom.

"I think I like you already," Stark said.

Jasper shook his head bemusedly, but he didn't resist Stark tugging him toward the kitchen. "I'm fucked, aren't I."

Stark just waggled his eyebrows. "Not yet, anyway."


	11. Gen(ish) - A "Shocking" Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not for anyone's prompt, but not really a freestanding fic on its own, so here it goes.

“ _Avengers Assemble! Like, right now. Especially you, Agents Katniss and Bond._ ”

Clint blinked sleep out of his eyes, already half-dressed and opening the door before he was even aware of being awake. “JARVIS, where is everyone?” he asked while striding to the elevator.

” _Sir, the Avengers are congregated in the penthouse recreation room._ ”

“Great. Take me there.” He stepped inside the waiting elevator, which started moving without prompting. While it rose, he tilted his head, weighing possible scenarios. He hadn’t heard anything unusual, so the city didn’t seem to be under attack, at least. “Threat level?”

A longer-than-usual pause. “ _I am unable to answer that question, as the specified parameters for threat levels do not extend to —_ ” the elevator doors opened “ _— the negative_.”

Clint blinked and looked around. Steve wore rumpled button-down pyjamas. Natasha looked perfectly groomed in jeans and a blouse, but stood barefoot. Tony and Bruce both had the loose t-shirts and frenetic eyes of a night with no sleep and too much caffeine. “Thank God you’re here,” Tony said. “I mean, there’s nothing to do right now, because I can’t punch Nick Fury in the face until I figure out where the hell he sleeps, but I knew you’d want to know right away.”

“Know what?” Clint asked.

“He’s _alive_. Coulson is. _Agent Coulson is alive_. I got an odd blip in my monitoring of SHIELD communications, and it turns out that he flatlined in the battle, but they revived him. He’s been holed up in medical while he recovers, and I’m pretty sure the facility’s right here in New York, just to taunt me.”

Clint stared. “What part of this is news, exactly?”

“Your former boss. Phil Coulson. Died in the battle for the Helicarrier. Not. Actually. Dead.”

Giving up on the world making sense, Clint glanced at Natasha. Her lips were quirked in the all too familiar shape of “you’re all idiots, but at least it’s funny to watch.” She shrugged and tilted her head at Clint: _all you, kid_.

Clint took a deep breath. “Tony, I know that Phil’s been in medical. That’s where I go every Thursday afternoon while he recovers.”

“You. But.” Tony sputtered.

Bruce placed a calming hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You did tell me that you thought they were dealing with Coulson’s death surprisingly well.”

“Wait, you thought Coulson was _dead_? You never said anything! There wasn’t a funeral! We didn’t mourn!”

“I was trying to be sensitive to your loss, _Jesus_.” Tony glared. “It’s not like you ever brought up ‘oh, by the way, Agent says hi.’”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s because he didn’t. He was a little hurt that none of you ever came to see him or asked me about him, and he has too much of a hero-worship thing for Steve to initiate contact.”

The room fell silent. Steve blushed.

“I knew,” Natasha said with a small shrug.

In unison, everyone turned to her and glared.


	12. Phil/Natasha - Pretending to be Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [vampirekilmer](http://vampirekilmer.tumblr.com/).

“… which is why I need you two to pretend to be married,” Steve concluded. His eyes shifted back and forth between Phil and Natasha warily, which Phil supposed he could understand. Steve had experienced enough retaliatory pranks by Clint to be cautious about upsetting him.

“It’s a good plan,” Phil said soothingly. ”Trust me, my husband can handle watching me pretend to be married to someone else. And you’re right — we need his eyes in the sky as backup.”

“Good, then,” Steve said, visibly relieved. He spared one more glance for Natasha — he’d always been charmingly hesitant about missions that required her to play the honeypot, whether with team members or with targets — but she responded with a cool nod.

Later, when everyone but Phil and Natasha had left the conference room, Phil turned to Natasha. ”I know we’re not fond of public displays, but Iron Man’s going to be monitoring the party with full visuals. How far do you think we can push propriety before Stark’s head explodes?”

Nat’s smile was small but amused. ”I’ve always been fond of the experimental method. Pretending to be involved with you is a terrible hardship, though.”

“I understand,” Phil said seriously. He picked up her hand and ran one thumb over her fingers — the closest they normally let themselves come to kissing in public. ”I’m a fortunate man.”

She squeezed his hand lightly in return, and then she gave him the look that only he and Clint got to see, the one that said _you make me happy_ , without need for alteration or concealment.

He was a fortunate man indeed.


	13. Tony/Bruce - On the banks of the Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a fill, just a ficlet from Tumblr that didn't fit elsewhere. Inspired by noticing that [according to this timeline](http://www.filmbuffonline.com/FBOLNewsreel/wordpress/2012/05/13/a-marvel-cinematic-universe-timeline-2-0/), Tony finished at MIT and Bruce started at Harvard in 1988 — also, coincidentally, the year of Feynman’s death.

It’s 1988, and Tony’s about to graduate from MIT, and he has no fucking clue what’s next for him in life. So he drinks a few beers and goes wandering through Cambridge on foot, avoiding the clubs and bars filled with people he’s already slept with, and eventually he ends up somewhere south of Harvard on the bank of the Charles, gazing at the pitch-black water and calculating more efficient designs for the boats that glide past.

“ _And I will look down and see my murmuring bones and the deep water like wind, like a roof of wind, and after a long time they cannot distinguish even bones upon the lonely and inviolate sand,_ ” someone says from behind Tony.

He turns and sees a kid with hair as dark and touseled as his own. ”Excuse me?” Tony says.

“It’s from Faulkner. A young man with too many bad dreams, looking out over the Charles River.” The kid shrugs. He’s wearing thrift-store clothing a size too large — not the normal kind of over-educated asshole Tony runs into.

“Let me guess: English major.”

“Physics, actually. But quoting Feynman’s never gotten me a phone number, so I figured I’d practice something new.”

Tony laughs — half because it’s hard to imagine this fluffy-haired, shabby, braces-wearing kid getting any phone numbers, and half because quoting Feynman by moonlight sounds like exactly his idea of a good date.

They end up talking, but Tony never tells the kid who he is, because he hasn’t had the pleasure of anonymity in far too long. Bruce is in town visiting Harvard — it’s his first choice, but he’s letting them wine and dine him before he tells them, and Tony approves of the strategy — but he won’t talk about his family at all.

Maybe they end up hiding in the shadows of a copse of trees, exchanging awkward kisses and hand jobs, followed by a strangely unawkward shared silence. It’s a story, and when Tony connects the memory to Bruce Banner, he flushes and resolves never to tell him.

But maybe they scramble down to the edge of the river, and Bruce pulls a notebook out of his backpack, tearing out sheets of paper. Maybe they compete at building paper boats and loosing them in the current, watching to see which ones last longest against the waves.

One of the boats never capsizes, floating until the white speck vanishes under Weeks Bridge. Neither of them says anything, but they’re both imagining themselves as that boat, engineering themselves into the right form until they can travel far, far away.


	14. Phil/Clint - Jesus Healing the Centurion's Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [thewaywardtexan](http://thewaywardtexan.tumblr.com/), by request.
> 
> This story is a liberal retelling/expansion of Luke 7:1-10 -- please don't expect perfect adherence to the ancient setting, the social norms of the time, or the Biblical story. :-)

Once upon a time, there was a Roman centurion, a leader of many men, known as Philippus. Though he was a representative of the foreign regime ruling over Palestine, he was yet a good man who sought to do good deeds. He helped the locals in need of aid, and he even sponsored them to build synagogues to worship at. Philippus also kept charge of his soldiers fairly, and everyone respected him for it, whether Roman or Jew. There was just one thing that Philippus lacked: someone to comfort him at night, when he wished to relax and take down his defenses.

Now, like all wealthy men of the time, Philippus had a household staff and slaves to take care of the daily housework. As his own personal bodyguard had recently paid for his freedom, having fallen in love with the local seamstress, Philippus headed to the slave market one day to find someone new. That was where he found Clintus.

Clintus had a fierce glint in his eyes and a body crafted by the gods themselves. When Philippus approached him, Clintus's gaze was wary, but beneath the suspicion, Philippus caught a glimpse of something more — something tired, something human, something trying terribly hard not to be hopeful. Philippus's decision was made.

Clintus turned out to be the worst slave that Philippus had ever had — and maybe also the best. He treated his master like an equal, responding to his orders with amusement and impertinence. But time and again, he proved that when their backs were to the wall, he would protect Philippus with his life. Philippus realized before long that he was in love; maybe he had been in love since they first met eyes in the slave market. When he discovered that Clintus reciprocated his feelings, the local garrison witnessed a miracle: Philippus the Centurion spending an entire week with an irrepressible smile.

Then tragedy struck. Clintus became increasingly tired, and though he tried to conceal it from Philippus, the wracking pains that accompanied his weak spells were impossible to ignore. The sickness worsened every day, until Clintus could barely lift his head, his brow pale and damp with fever-sweat. Philippus had hired the greatest doctors in Palestine, wishing fiercely for the medical expertise of Rome, but knowing that Clintus would not last the length of the voyage. At last, having exhausted all venues to save his lover, he became desperate.

Philippus had heard of the prophet who'd been wandering the countryside, of course. His magical healings and exorcisms were the talk of the common people, along with wilder rumors of everything from walking on water to creating food out of thin air. But he knew that the man was a religious extremist, and everyone he'd healed was a fellow Jew, whereas both Philippus and Clintus were foreign-born. Still, Philippus could be cunning when he needed to, and he crafted a plan.

Philippus visited the local elders, the well-respected men who presided over the synagogue that he'd funded. "Please," he told them quietly, "I only ask that you make the request for me. If you can do this, you can consider my gift repaid in full." So off to the prophet Jesus they went. As for Philippus, he returned home to his estate. Clintus grew weaker by the hour, and even if he could do nothing, Philippus could not bear to think of his lover lying alone.

Some time later, as Clintus floated in the shadowy space between life and death, another slave brought word to Philippus. "The elders spoke to him, and Jesus is on his way here!" Philippus blinked in surprise. His household was Roman, not Jewish; the kitchen roasted pigs, and the Jews' washing rituals were never observed. Even his Jewish friends would only dine with him in their own living quarters. He'd assumed that he would have to carry Clintus outside to meet the prophet, but his lover looked too tired to move.

Then Philippus's face set with determination. "Go back and tell Jesus a message. Tell him that I know I'm not one of his people, and I don't deserve to have him in here, but tell him I don't think it matters. I know what it's like to have authority. If I need a new shirt, I don't walk to the marketplace myself; I tell a servant, and he goes and does it for me. So if Jesus is likewise master of the healing spirits, then all he has to do is say the word, and my precious beloved will become well."

Philippus sent the servant back out, then stroked Clintus's hand. "Just a little longer, love. Be strong for me."

The minutes passed with no sign: no visiting Jews, no returning servants, nothing.

Then, at last, Clintus opened his mouth wide, inhaled deeply, and coughed — the kind of deep, satisfying cough that he hadn't been able to produce in days. His eyes fluttered open, and they were clear and sharp as a hawk's. Clintus took another breath and wet his lips. "You always did have more faith than any of us," he said hoarsely. But all that Philippus could do was bend down for a fierce, protective, utterly relieved kiss.

From that moment, Clintus recovered rapidly to full health, and Philippus thanked the gods often for the miracle that the prophet had wrought. As for Clintus and Philippus, they stayed by each other's side for the rest of their days, which were long and filled with joy. In short, they lived happily ever after.

 

The end.


	15. Steve/Thor: Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Moiraine, who requested Steve/Thor for her birthday. Fandom normally portrays Steve as inexperienced and Thor/Asgard as affirming of sex and sexuality, so I decided to flip the tropes.

He’d never tell Tony, but Avengers Tower reminded Steve a little of the YMCA. He’d stayed at Sloane House for a little while himself; Bucky had left for basic training, and Steve didn’t make enough to pay rent on his own. The Y had lived up to all the stories that Steve had heard, chatting at the underground bar he used to visit when Bucky was busy elsewhere. He caught men’s eyes lingering on him from the moment he entered, and he’d been propositioned in the showers by his third day there.

Good times all around.

So Steve didn’t mean the comparison as an insult. The Tower had the same sense of camaraderie, the same shared facilities, the same tendency for men to walk casually into each other’s space — even if they were more likely to be comparing weapon designs than asking for smokes. Last but not least, there was the pool, cool and luxurious after a warm run outdoors. The first time that Tony walked in on Steve swimming, he’d raised an eyebrow, but said nothing; JARVIS explained later that in this century, swimwear was considered mandatory in most communal contexts. But swimming in clothes had never felt right on Steve, all cold and clingy and restrictive, so he’d shrugged and decided to keep swimming nude until someone asked him to stop.

That led to the other way that the Tower reminded Steve of the Y. He’d noticed that each of the men reacted differently to nudity in the pool or showers. Clint ignored it with a casualness that spoke to his military training. Bruce curled in on himself, as if he could create an opaque wall between himself and the others by sheer willpower. Tony waggled his eyebrows and made inappropriate comments about Steve’s “little Uncle Sam," but without any real intent, neither malicious or lascivious.

Thor looked. He looked at Steve’s body like it held an oasis of water, like Thor had thirsted for years. But whenever he sensed Steve watching him, he turned away, his expression twisted between a blush and a grimace of near-pain.

Steve knew that look. He’d seen it at the Y, on the faces of men who’d just arrived from the country, who couldn’t think about what they wanted without remembering a litany of rejection and disgust. It was the look of a man on the cusp of realizing that the only way to get rid of a temptation was to yield to it.


End file.
